Laundry
by FanfictionCuresWritersBlock
Summary: Although it surprised her at first, Rose has become somewhat accustomed to watching the Doctor do his laundry. However, that doesn't make it any less sexy to her. In the moment of calm on the TARDIS, she considers her feelings for the Doctor and decides they can't be put into words. Rated M for sex-you've been warned!


It had taken her quite by surprise the first time she had stumbled upon the TARDIS's laundry room. She stood in the doorway, mouth agape, for a few seconds before her mind processed the information. Of course the TARDIS had a laundry room, unless it self-replicated hundreds of jumpers and jeans and boxers and socks. Not to mention her things. She just hadn't expected something so…familiar on his ship. It was a room with a washer and a dryer, an advanced set, of course, but still recognizable as the machines that were made to do laundry.

She was used to it now, having used it a few dozen times herself, but there was still something strange about watching the Doctor, dressed in a white t-shirt and boxer shorts, shoving a wad of clothes into a washing machine. She had laughed at him the first time, which had stung his ego a bit.

_"It just looks so funny, you doing laundry!" she had said, still giggling._

_He stood up, looking slightly wounded. "You think just because I'm a Time Lord I can't do laundry?"_

_"No. I mean—but I mean do Time Lords get B.O.? Aren't you too advanced for _deodorant_?"_

_"Hey! At least we're advanced enough to _wear_ deodorant. Some humans still can't get that straight!"_

_She had tried to stifle her laughter. "Alright, alright. Sorry. I just find it hard to imagine the _Doctor_ doing laundry in his time machine!"_

Now that the shock had worn off, it no longer seemed weird to her that he washed his clothes. In fact, it seemed so foolish that she had thought it so amusing. But, in her defence, humankind spent so much time imagining aliens as little green men it never even occurred to them that aliens might have to do laundry.

Laundry day was sort of their way of achieving serenity on the TARDIS, the one time that they took to relax and let the expectations of adventures fade to background noise. He always insisted on doing his own laundry, but she would sit in the laundry room with him, perched on the dryer while he sat on the chair in the corner, usually reading.

Sometimes she would read too, but recently she had taken to watching him over the top of the pages, concentrating on whatever novel or text he had picked from the TARDIS's extensive library for that day. It fascinated her to watch him when he wasn't focused on being intimidating or closed-off or "The Doctor." She loved to watch his eyes move as he read the lines, small lines of his face occasionally betraying a flicker of emotion over the story.

She still held her book up, as if she were reading it, even though he knew she was watching him. It felt a little like those moments when she got caught checking someone out, and whoever she had been gawking at smiled or winked. That warm mingling of embarrassment and relief would wash over her and she would blush, though she couldn't help but smile to herself. The simple fact that the Doctor didn't mention anything to her was a kind of success, and it always made her heart flutter when he turned the page and his eyes flicked up just too high for the top of the page and met hers for a split second before returning to the letters on the page. She always dropped hers to the book too, as if she was actually embarrassed she had been caught, but it didn't take long for her to return to watching him.

"Doctor?" she said suddenly, dropping her book to her lap.

"Hmm?" he answered distractedly, his eyes still scanning across the page.

She panicked trying to figure out how to answer him. It had all-of-the-sudden hit her how sexy she found it that he did his own laundry, well, and without comment. She had opened her mouth to compliment him on it before she had thought it through, and she had only now realized she was too shy to say anything of the sort.

"What are you reading?" she asked, managing a talking speed only slightly faster than normal.

He glanced up at her for a moment before returning his eyes to the book. "A novel." He paused, finishing a paragraph. "From Earth, year 2407. A man leaves his home because he doesn't fit in and finds a home on another planet among another species."

"Is it good?" she asked. It sounded interesting, at the least. She wondered if it was considered science fiction or just fiction in 2407.

"It's interesting enough," he answered, turning a page.

She watched him read for another minute, considering him. She wondered if he liked the story because he related to it in some way. She felt so sad for him, the last of his kind, but she wondered if he had found a new home in Earth. He seemed awfully concerned with preserving its well-being for someone who thought it inhabited with nothing more than "stupid apes."

Before she could come to any real conclusion, the washing machine buzzed, demanding his attention. He finished a sentence and closed the book, setting it in the chair as he stood. She hopped off the dryer so he could move his clothes, and she watched him lean over to do so.

She couldn't deny her attraction to the Doctor, that was for sure. And despite her current view, she knew she valued more than his nice ass. The more she considered who he was, at least what she could tell of who he was, the more she realized she was falling—had fallen—in love with him. So many horrible things had happened in his life, and he still managed to care so much for so many. He didn't admit it, but he loved Earth, he loved humans, at least to some extent. He let her on the TARDIS, didn't he?

He stood, closing the dryer and starting it. He turned to catch her unabashedly staring at him and regarded her curiously.

"What?" he asked.

She wasn't sure how to answer. She certainly didn't have the vocabulary to explain what she had just been thinking. But no one did, truly; it was not something to blame on her upbringing. There simply weren't words.

So, instead she kissed him, and not shyly, pushing her whole body against him. She had never felt so close to him, and there were barely any clothes between them. She could imagine the feel of his skin, his chest, his abs underneath his undershirt as she pressed herself into him, and it only made her more desperate to feel him without the cloth.

The smell of him filled her nostrils, musky and clean and strangely familiar. "Doctor, are you wearing Old Spice?" she asked.

He shrugged. "I was out, we were on Earth, and I bought the one that smelled best."

She laughed and kissed him again. "I love Old Spice."

As they kissed, she found herself acutely aware of how little her clothes covered her skin. It had seemed natural to wear pyjamas when he was standing there in his underwear, but the spaghetti-strap tank and sleep shorts exposed her skin to his wandering touch. Gooseflesh prickled down her arms as his slightly calloused hands caressed her.

Her heartbeat accelerated, seemingly out of control, and she ran her fingers through his hair. He was a world of contradictions: his pain-hardened exterior was soft to her touch, his military haircut plush in her hands. She wanted desperately for him to hold her tighter, pull her closer so she could feel more of his soft-and-hard body. Her desire was spiralling beyond her control, but she admittedly wasn't making much of an effort to hold it back.

Timidly, one of his hands slid from her shoulder onto her chest, hovering just above her breast as if asking her permission. She couldn't find the breath to give it, so she pushed into him instead. Immediately, his hand began to tease her, brushing over her nipple through the cotton fabric. It was an intense sensation on an intensely sensitive area, and she shuddered with as a cold wave of arousal passed through her.

She redoubled the passion in their kiss as his fingers teased her, and she nipped at his lower lip tenderly with her teeth. He responded with a gentle pinch of her nipple, and she cried out in surprise and sensation. He took advantage of her momentary pause to lift her to sit on the dryer, bringing her to his height. He wrapped his arms possessively around her waist and pressed himself into her.

She gasped as she felt his arousal between her legs. Even though two layers of fabric still separated them, the intimacy floored her. He broke the kiss to peel off his shirt and hers before returning to kiss her neck. Her breasts pressed into the skin of his chest, she felt the warm reality of him, and her arousal crescendoed. Reflexively, her hips ground herself into him and they both stiffened with the sudden stimulation.

He broke away from her, panting through slightly parted lips, his eyes dark with his lust for her. His head then ducked so he could kiss her breasts, and his hands wandered to her ass. After a moment, he tugged on her shorts and she shifted so he could remove them. She was literally throbbing for him already, and spread her legs to give him, access, permission, whatever he needed.

He crouched down, lightly caressing the skin of her inner thighs, and then his tongue set her on fire. She couldn't help but moan his name as he gave her the attention she had been craving. Her fingers clenched in his hair, her toes alternated frantically between flex and point, she struggled not to drown in the pleasure. She could barely breathe through the onslaught; every muscle in her body grew taut in effort not to explode. The dryer vibrated gently beneath her, enhancing his touch and making it impossible for her to control her rising arousal.

She was whimpering, trying to give the tension somewhere to escape before it burned her up from the inside. "Yes, yes, yes," she repeated, though she knew he was aware of her approval. She writhed beneath him; it was futile to pretend otherwise: she was going to explode, the warmth was going to consume her, and it was going to feel _so good._

"Oh, Doctor, oh!" It was happening. Her body curved, her hips rose to meet him, her toes curled, and she tumbled over the edge into blissful oblivion.

As she relaxed into his arms, he stood, shimmied out of his boxers, and slipped into her. Her aftershocks gripped him gently, but she was more than ready for the feeling of fullness that followed. His motion quickly brought back her desire for orgasm, even as her last one had not quite faded. She gripped his hips as an anchor and her hips automatically moved with him. They panted together, trying to catch their breath.

She was so close to a second she was desperate. She needed harder, faster, now! Her fingers reached down to her clit, she threw her head back, and she was coming again around him, erratic pulses pulling him closer.

He grunted and trembled before he went tight against her. She held him as pleasure took him, together they weathered the waves that turned his knees to jelly.

When their breathing had finally calmed, he pulled away from her, pushing her hair behind her ear. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

"I may have gotten a bit carried away," Rose admitted. "Did you know girls find it sexy when guys do their own laundry?"

He laughed shortly. "Laundry brought that on?"

"Partly. There were some other…factors that may have contributed."

"Other factors?" he asked, pulling his boxers back on.

"Well, yeah, I mean you leaned over to use the dryer and that ass…" She giggled when he looked at her sceptically. "Now that you have clean clothes, you might want to shower before you put them on," she teased as he pulled his shirt over his head. "I would hate to see them get dirty again."

He shrugged. "Maybe that wouldn't be such a bad think after all."

She grinned at him, her tongue peeking at him from between her teeth. "Maybe not."


End file.
